Published: Saturday, October 12, 2013 at 7:56 p.m.

Last Modified: Saturday, October 12, 2013 at 9:26 p.m.

DELAND — On the wall at the Big Rig II restaurant you'll find photos of Pogo, Double Deuce, Mud Hole and Slew Foot, a few of the more than 180 photographs of old timers who usually don't know each other's real names.

But they can easily name their friends and acquaintances by their Citizens Band radio handle names, identities they acquired by talking to each other through CB radios while out hunting or fishing in the 60s and 70s.

“They are not nicknames. They are CB handle names, so don't you go writing that they are nicknames,” said Walt Willis, 72, whose handle name is 22 or Double Deuce.

The photos were put up by Melvin Rollins, 67, aka Gunnie, a retired U.S. Marine. It is a tribute to the old timers who spent a lot of time outdoors fishing and hunting when they were not working. They were electricians, carpenters, masons, plumbers, pool builders, mechanics, car racers; others made a living hunting, fishing or crabbing. At least 27 of them have gone “on yonder” and a silver star on each photograph announces their passing.

How come they don't know each other's real names?

The story begins before 1962, the year Bill Leveille built Leveille's Big Rig Truck stop at the corner of Plymouth and Spring Garden avenues to attract hungry truckers traveling between Orlando and Jacksonville. Hunting parties were small in those days, said George Cook, 64.

“Back then when you went deer hunting, there were no radios,” Cook said. “You yelled at each other, so we had to be within shouting distance and we called out to each other by name.”

When CB radios became popular, hunting parties grew and CB handle names were developed to identify the user and keep the real names anonymous to game wardens, said Roy Peterson, 74, known as Pogo.

“Before radios, maybe there were six or eight people in a group,” Peterson said. “With CB radios in the 60s and 70s, you got to know up to 100 hunters in one area by their CB handle names.”

CB radios were in use in the1960s but they became really popular in the 1970s when the U.S. government imposed a nationwide 55-mph speed limit after the 1973 oil crisis. CB radios were used to locate service stations with better supplies of fuel, organize blockades and to notify other drivers of speed traps.

Leveille built his truck stop to lure truckers with his “Got Grits?” sign and also brought in local fishermen and hunters, who became regulars at the 24-hour restaurant.

In the 60s, 70s and early 80s, the parking lot of the eatery teemed with truckers, 18-wheelers and locals' pickups and vehicles. The cackle of CB radios could be heard all around as people called out to announce their stop, Rollins said.

Rollins grew up in DeLand and started going to the Big Rig at 17. After high school and a few years as a barber, Rollins joined the U.S. Marine Corps. But the Big Rig was his spot when he was on leave.

“It was the place where you got updated on things you missed,” Rollins said. “That's where you learned who got married, and if you lost track of an old girlfriend, that's where you found out whether she was still single, married or where she was.”

In 1996, Rollins retired from the Marines. He asked about a friend and no one seemed to know who he was talking about. When he mentioned the person's CB handle, he was told the friend had passed away. To prevent his friend from being forgotten, he asked the restaurant owner if he could put up a photo on a wall, so people could see who had passed. The shrine grew over the years as other friends started giving him photos to put up.

Leveille's original 1962 restaurant is gone, torn down a few years ago after a developer bought the land. Gone too are the truckers and their big rigs.

But the eatery's legacy lives on, as Bob Landolfi or Yankee Bob, who owned the Big Rig before it was demolished, moved the business to 815 North Spring Garden Ave and renamed it the Big Rig II.

And the old timers followed. Rollins rescued the photographs and asked Landolfi if he could display them at the Big Rig II.

“They explained to me what the wall of photos meant to them, especially the part about the CB radio names,” Landolfi said. “So I said to them that I will be the keeper of their memories.”

Diners too, appreciate the pictures when they hear the stories behind them.

“I think it's neat,” said Rebecca Murphy, looking at the wall of pictures while dining at the Big Rig II recently. “It's kinda cool to see everybody used to come to this one place in this small town to make it the gossip center. It's living history on a wall.”

The wall holds the history of a quickly disappearing group that used to hold large community cookouts — fish fries and venison cookouts — after successful hunting or fishing seasons, said Richard Clifton, who hosts Redneck Saturday, one of two traditional hunting or fishing feasts that remain in DeLand.

“It's a wall of memories, that's for sure,” said Jim Morgan, 75, whose photo is on the wall. “A lot of these guys are avid hunters and fishermen but a lot of them are not here anymore.”

And the tales of how they were baptized with CB handles is also intriguing, said Miller.

Miller is Mud Hole for seemingly getting his 1962 Ford pickup stuck in the mud all the time.

Bill Reynolds or Wrong Way got his while on trip to Alaska with Miller. Reynolds was racing down a mountain alongside a semi somewhere in Kentucky and found himself running out of road and entered the wrong way onto another road.

And they are proud of their handle names, said Alfred “Hot Rod” Guess.

Take Calvin Peterson for instance, who was christened “Slew Foot” after he shot himself in the foot with a 16-gauge shotgun while deer hunting at 12.

“Why are you calling me by my name now?” Peterson asked his friends at a recent interview. “Y'all been calling me Slew Foot for more than 25 years.”

<p>DELAND — On the wall at the Big Rig II restaurant you'll find photos of Pogo, Double Deuce, Mud Hole and Slew Foot, a few of the more than 180 photographs of old timers who usually don't know each other's real names.</p><p>But they can easily name their friends and acquaintances by their Citizens Band radio handle names, identities they acquired by talking to each other through CB radios while out hunting or fishing in the 60s and 70s.</p><p> “They are not nicknames. They are CB handle names, so don't you go writing that they are nicknames,” said Walt Willis, 72, whose handle name is 22 or Double Deuce.</p><p>The photos were put up by Melvin Rollins, 67, aka Gunnie, a retired U.S. Marine. It is a tribute to the old timers who spent a lot of time outdoors fishing and hunting when they were not working. They were electricians, carpenters, masons, plumbers, pool builders, mechanics, car racers; others made a living hunting, fishing or crabbing. At least 27 of them have gone “on yonder” and a silver star on each photograph announces their passing.</p><p>How come they don't know each other's real names?</p><p>The story begins before 1962, the year Bill Leveille built Leveille's Big Rig Truck stop at the corner of Plymouth and Spring Garden avenues to attract hungry truckers traveling between Orlando and Jacksonville. Hunting parties were small in those days, said George Cook, 64.</p><p>“Back then when you went deer hunting, there were no radios,” Cook said. “You yelled at each other, so we had to be within shouting distance and we called out to each other by name.”</p><p>When CB radios became popular, hunting parties grew and CB handle names were developed to identify the user and keep the real names anonymous to game wardens, said Roy Peterson, 74, known as Pogo.</p><p>“Before radios, maybe there were six or eight people in a group,” Peterson said. “With CB radios in the 60s and 70s, you got to know up to 100 hunters in one area by their CB handle names.”</p><p>CB radios were in use in the1960s but they became really popular in the 1970s when the U.S. government imposed a nationwide 55-mph speed limit after the 1973 oil crisis. CB radios were used to locate service stations with better supplies of fuel, organize blockades and to notify other drivers of speed traps.</p><p>Leveille built his truck stop to lure truckers with his “Got Grits?” sign and also brought in local fishermen and hunters, who became regulars at the 24-hour restaurant.</p><p>In the 60s, 70s and early 80s, the parking lot of the eatery teemed with truckers, 18-wheelers and locals' pickups and vehicles. The cackle of CB radios could be heard all around as people called out to announce their stop, Rollins said.</p><p>Rollins grew up in DeLand and started going to the Big Rig at 17. After high school and a few years as a barber, Rollins joined the U.S. Marine Corps. But the Big Rig was his spot when he was on leave.</p><p>“It was the place where you got updated on things you missed,” Rollins said. “That's where you learned who got married, and if you lost track of an old girlfriend, that's where you found out whether she was still single, married or where she was.”</p><p>In 1996, Rollins retired from the Marines. He asked about a friend and no one seemed to know who he was talking about. When he mentioned the person's CB handle, he was told the friend had passed away. To prevent his friend from being forgotten, he asked the restaurant owner if he could put up a photo on a wall, so people could see who had passed. The shrine grew over the years as other friends started giving him photos to put up.</p><p>Leveille's original 1962 restaurant is gone, torn down a few years ago after a developer bought the land. Gone too are the truckers and their big rigs.</p><p>But the eatery's legacy lives on, as Bob Landolfi or Yankee Bob, who owned the Big Rig before it was demolished, moved the business to 815 North Spring Garden Ave and renamed it the Big Rig II. </p><p>And the old timers followed. Rollins rescued the photographs and asked Landolfi if he could display them at the Big Rig II.</p><p>“They explained to me what the wall of photos meant to them, especially the part about the CB radio names,” Landolfi said. “So I said to them that I will be the keeper of their memories.” </p><p>Diners too, appreciate the pictures when they hear the stories behind them.</p><p>“I think it's neat,” said Rebecca Murphy, looking at the wall of pictures while dining at the Big Rig II recently. “It's kinda cool to see everybody used to come to this one place in this small town to make it the gossip center. It's living history on a wall.”</p><p>The wall holds the history of a quickly disappearing group that used to hold large community cookouts — fish fries and venison cookouts — after successful hunting or fishing seasons, said Richard Clifton, who hosts Redneck Saturday, one of two traditional hunting or fishing feasts that remain in DeLand.</p><p> Jackie “Mud Hole” Miller, a commercial crabber, holds another cookout for Bike Week every year.</p><p>“It's a wall of memories, that's for sure,” said Jim Morgan, 75, whose photo is on the wall. “A lot of these guys are avid hunters and fishermen but a lot of them are not here anymore.”</p><p>And the tales of how they were baptized with CB handles is also intriguing, said Miller.</p><p>Miller is Mud Hole for seemingly getting his 1962 Ford pickup stuck in the mud all the time. </p><p>Bill Reynolds or Wrong Way got his while on trip to Alaska with Miller. Reynolds was racing down a mountain alongside a semi somewhere in Kentucky and found himself running out of road and entered the wrong way onto another road.</p><p>And they are proud of their handle names, said Alfred “Hot Rod” Guess.</p><p>Take Calvin Peterson for instance, who was christened “Slew Foot” after he shot himself in the foot with a 16-gauge shotgun while deer hunting at 12.</p><p>“Why are you calling me by my name now?” Peterson asked his friends at a recent interview. “Y'all been calling me Slew Foot for more than 25 years.”</p><br><br><br><br>